In any country where livelihoods are covered in blood, there is no country like Gaza where anyone who wants to eat flour eats it covered in blood. The aid that comes to us, which is supposed to arrive safely, is being killed by the occupation forces who secure those trucks. The reason is to create chaos and disorder. Yesterday, at 2:00 a.m., in complete darkness, I went to the aid trucks to bring flour. There were over 100,000 people waiting for the aid. The first 20 trucks entered because of the large number of people. Unfortunately, we couldn't get anything the first time, but I didn't want to go back until I got some flour. I stayed until 4:00 a.m. waiting for the second group of trucks to enter, among hundreds of thousands of people. I didn't expect to be able to take a bag of flour. I did, but after several attempts and several times, I narrowly escaped death. I was almost run over by the wheels of the giant truck. People were crushed in front of me. I managed to pick up a bag of flour and went to the beach carrying that 25-kilogram bag. I didn't feel its weight because I felt like I was happily carrying the whole world in my hands. It was a wonderful and terrifying feeling at the same time. There was shooting by the Zionists and shelling and I was injured in my foot and it still hurts to this day. In what country would it be reasonable for your 17-year-old son, brother or friend to go and see these horrors? It was truly terrifying and I can't believe I'm even alive. I don't think any of you have experienced these horrors to this day. Please, I don't want to go through this again. I want to go to the mall to buy flour in peace, not go to the death trucks to pick it up. Please donate and help me.

Please share this post and send my voice to anyone who has some mercy and humanity to help me and my family. Please donate to me, guys.

Hello, my name is Lama, and I am from Gaza City, specifically in the northern Gaza Strip. I grew up in a loving family of resilience and hope, with my parents working tirelessly to provide us with a life of dignity and opportunity. My father was our steadfast provider, and my mother was the heart of our home. I have two brothers and three sisters, the youngest of whom is just six months old. She is frail and often sick due to the lack of proper food and medicine. My siblings and I have shared dreams of education, careers and a bright future. But life in Gaza is marked by hardship, and when the war began, everything we had built was shattered. My older brother, a kind and a courageous soul, was martyred while trying to secure basic necessities for our survival, my younger sister was gravely injured, and the cost of her treatment weighs more than the universe to us, now the responsibility for my family has fallen on my shoulders.